


keep you closer than most

by dinosuns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comedy, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Team Dynamics, bad humour, public displays of adoration through merchandise, rip everybody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 02:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16108541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosuns/pseuds/dinosuns
Summary: A t-shirt, is what Keith has the audacity to call the thing he’s wearing. But this is no ordinary t-shirt, not by any means.--Earth is saved, the universe grows closer to peace more and more each day. But the paladins of Voltron, they’re all doomed...





	keep you closer than most

**Author's Note:**

> somebody had to do it LOL

After all the battles they’ve faced, all the trials they’ve endured, this is perhaps their biggest oversight. Nothing could have prepared them for this. The consequences of stalling, of bearing witness to this event, is earth-shattering. Now here the paladins of Voltron sit, in one of the many Garrison common rooms, stewing in the depths of their failure and plight. It's the hot topic. They’ve sunken deep into dangerous territory, the kind where both victory and the end are completely out of sight.

“I can’t take this anymore…” Lance murmurs, slumped into his seat. It’s the quietest, most forlorn he has been for some time. Beside him, Allura presses a hand to his shoulder in the best gesture of reassurance she can muster.

“What do we do?” Pidge asks from the corner of the room after an appropriate length pause, allowing for just the right amount of melodrama to heighten between them. That's enough for the swirling restlessness churning in Hunk's stomach to get significantly worse. 

“I’m so sorry everyone - this is all my fault!” He exclaims, jumping out his chair. Guilt plagues his eyes, unshakeable the more he recalls the past week. “I- I was there when it happened for the first time. I should have put a stop to this but instead I just stood there and watched because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing it was just too much to take in at the time but now it’s gone too far and I-”

“What are you guys talking about?” Keith, their greatest fear, says from the doorway.

Nobody dares look in his direction, despite the automatic urge to do so. They just can’t, not under these circumstances. Even if, granted, Keith has always had a remarkable ability to lure in the attention from people around him solely by the sheer determination constantly burning beneath his skin. It must be obvious the team are working hard to avoid acknowledging his presence, because Keith takes another step forwards. In their peripheral, Keith folds his arms.

“What’s going on?”

“We could ask you the same thing,” Lance snaps but he isn’t being confrontational. If anything, he sounds troubled. Shaken, even.

“What are you wearing, Keith.”

At Pidge’s firm question, their leader’s composure wavers. It would be considered an achievement if they were in any other universe, any other timeline besides this one. Keith splutters gracelessly, and it makes nothing any better. His eyes are undoubtedly blown wide too. Nobody bothers to confirm this, there’s too much at stake.

“I- what - why-?”

That settles it. Hunk’s with Lance on this., he too can’t take much more either.  

“Answer the question, Keith!”  

There’s a pause, tension stretching further than expected. A beat later, in a hushed tone, Keith responds. “A t-shirt.”

Lance hangs his head at the confession, raking a hand through his hair. There’s a sombre silence, a mutual shared mourning for all the lives they once knew that have come and gone after the passing of this moment. Pidge closes the lid of her laptop shut with a dramatic smack. Hunk can only stare at the ceiling, not daring to look over. They all know what this means, what they’ll see if they dare break their resolve and look. To do that would be too much.

Earth is saved, the universe grows closer to peace more and more each day. But the paladins of Voltron, they’re all doomed.

* * *

 “It’s ridiculous,” is what Keith says when it all starts, in his most unimpressed tone.

There’s an overdone monotone trying to squash any trace of interest, but Keith is not as subtle as he thinks he is. At this stage, it’s no surprise that he can only sound weightless, enlightened in the presence of Takashi Shirogane - even if that is in the form of a keyring. Keith hasn’t taken his eyes off it the entire time they’ve queued up for their lunch. Hunk isn’t sure if he should make a joke about giving them some privacy, or pretend he’s listening diligently to Keith’s serious thoughts on the recent launch of paladin merchandise.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to make that choice. Leaning forward, Keith eyes the keyring.

“Completely ridiculous,” he punctuates every word between a pout, staring down the chibi Shiro as if its existence has affected him greatly. Honestly, this is an awkward situation, because what Keith is saying doesn’t match up with his actions at all. Hands begin to trace over the keyring absently - no, not absently. Fondly. There’s no point pretending here and tiptoeing around this. Hunk catches the smile in the corner of Keith’s mouth, it’s clearly there.  

As Keith glances over his shoulder at Hunk, an expectant look on his face, Hunk sucks in a breath and throws out whatever he can.

“Yeah, yeah, totally. You’re right, of course.” _Ridiculous_ , is what Keith said. But now he’s throwing a pencil with a miniature Shiro on the top into their basket. It’s difficult to continue with any train of thought after witnessing that, honestly. “We’re famous enough to be on lunchboxes and juice-boxes and all sorts of boxes it’s no big deal. Not at all. People shouldn’t be so obsessed with it or act like we’re celebrities. We’re only humans - well figuratively speaking I guess, actually.”

“Exactly.” Keith nods, stepping away from the keyrings. “This stuff it- it-” with a sigh, Keith’s eyes drift back to the keyring. He seems conflicted. They’re getting closer to the front of the queue. “It doesn’t mean anything. Just -"

“-Next please!”

It happens fast, leaving no room for Hunk to react or truly process it. Had he had the time, he’s not sure he could have even found words to speak and make sense of it either. Mind evidently made up, Keith reaches for the keyrings and tosses two into their basket. Two - quite frankly adorable - chibi Shiro keyrings poke out from the top, and it doesn’t change no matter how long Hunk stares at the basket. They’re definitely there, he’s not just seeing this. As Keith dumps their items onto the checkout belt, Hunk is sure he spots a suspiciously familiar face printed onto a crumpled t-shirt poorly hidden from view.

Unfazed, Keith prepares to bag their items as they’re scanned through. “People shouldn’t get so caught up with pointless merchandise.”  

Hunk watches Keith stuff the the t-shirt, keyrings and pencil into a separate bag. His cheeks are a little red.

“Ridiculous.”

The word isn’t what matters, it’s the way Keith bows his head to utter it. His fingers curl around the Takashi Shirogane sticker pack before slapping it down firmly on the counter. In seconds, it’s added to their recent purchases.

Oh no.

* * *

There’s an elephant in the meeting room when everybody steps inside, and there’s reluctance shared amongst everybody to herd it out. Not to mention, it could be impossible to even try. Especially since that elephant that isn’t an elephant at all just so happens to be in clutched tightly between Keith’s hands. Both those things make it a complicated situation. It’s not their most pressing or important meeting, but that’s still not an excuse to get too relaxed. James’ eye twitches, the sight pushing him close to the edge of spontaneous combustion.

Out of everybody else here, Keith is the unashamed anomaly, and he’s not even bothering to hide that he’s breaking the mould. To be more specific, a flask that doesn’t bear the Galaxy Garrison logo is currently on display. Keith takes a sip of whatever is in the flask, James isn’t focused on that, and his fingers slide across the surface just enough to reveal more of the image. An encouraging smile, unmistakable white hair.

“You’re staring,” Keith remarks as the MFEs and paladins take their seats. He’s too observant for his own good, sometimes it’s eerie. James says nothing, it’s not exactly the kind of situation they’re trained to deal with. There is no protocol for this.

It gets worse when Takashi Shirogane, captain of the Atlas, enters the room and takes his side beside Keith. That’s expected, as routine as the meetings they have become. But what not expected is what sits in his hands. Beside James, Kinkade grunts in what can only be dismay. He’s spotted it too, everybody has. Keith glances over to the object collectively responsible for of at least half the room’s mild exasperation.

“You bought it.”

“Of course I did,” Shiro murmurs, a verbal caress.

Keith’s eyes soften as he holds up his own flask and clinks them together. The lips of the far too familiar people on the flask touch with the gesture. If that’s by accident, James isn’t sure. Considering Keith can be equally as strategic and pragmatic as he is bold and brave, it’s hard to say. He also isn’t sure he wants to know anymore.

Clearing his throat, Shiro starts the meeting with flushed cheeks. His voice is far too endeared to be appropriate for the time of day. Keith poorly stifles his smile.

Well. There’s no setting this elephant free, that’s for sure. This is going to just stampede all over them. Even at six o’clock in the damn morning.

* * *

Krolia can say with the utmost confidence that she would do anything for her son. Anything includes this, especially this to be truthful. She’d noticed his crestfallen expression earlier in the day and the bruising ache in her chest it evoked merely drove her further to complete this mission. Krolia has completed many missions in her lifetime, whilst this one had been a little different to the rest, it’s no less important or pressing.

The results of her mission sit in a plastic bag swinging by her side. Approaching the table in the common room, she sets the bag down in Keith's lap. Kolivan is sat on the other couch, failing to be discreet in watching the scene unfold. Krolia would have asked him to assist her on the mission, but she’s grateful he spent this time by her son’s side. Even if no words were passed, the presence of another is sometimes more than enough.

At Keith’s growing confusion, Krolia is ready to shed some more light on the situation. Though the small gasp drawn from Keith’s lips as he peers inside reveals he has probably figured it out. Still, it’s worth making sure he understands.

“I saw this and thought of you.”

“This is-...” Keith’s voice is raspy, the reverence not going unmissed. His eyes flick up, and Krolia smiles at what lingers there. This mission had been a success. “Mum, it’s been out of stock for months. How did you get it?”

Kolivan raises his chin, shooting Krolia an incredulous look once deciphering what exactly is inside the bag she had given her son. Evidently, he doesn’t quite understand the significance. That’s fine. They can discuss it further later. Krolia evades Keith’s question expertly. It doesn’t matter that she went to desperate measures, perhaps even more so than her son would, to acquire this one limited edition item for him. She’s fully aware of this strange ritual he and Shiro have between themselves. And she’s also aware this is one of the only items they have been unable to retrieve.

“I’m just pleased you like it so much.”

* * *

Shiro’s office is fine, under-decorated and modest, until Lance makes the mistake of falling prey to curiosity and stepping inside. None of the Garrison rooms are that colourful or interesting, so the vibrancy in his peripheral makes no sense. As he turns his head to inspect, Lance laments ever doing so. The poster on the wall is huge. It’s one of the photographs from the promotional shoot Keith begrudgingly agreed to partake in some time ago with the others. Only, this isn’t a group shot, Keith’s been cropped out to stand alone in a majestic pose, brushed up with some fancy extra background touches and a predictable overuse of lens flare.

He tries, he really does try to keep it together. It’s not often he and Shiro get time to spend together one-on-one, after all. For a total of five minutes, Lance manages. Barely steering through a discussion. It’s the coolness Keith exudes - Keith who isn’t even here yet still somehow is also the only person who is - that pushes him over the edge.

“What is that,” Lance finally bursts because there is only so long he can sit here and pretend that this is fine and nothing is wrong and that Keith’s sparkling poster eyes staring at him from across the room isn’t at all uncomfortable.

“It’s collector’s class.”

Shiro beams with something that absolutely should not be pride. Holy cow he’s proud about this. But there’s more. Shiro stands up, and as he does Lance pointedly ignores the many variations of Keith cards falling out his pocket from the Voltron trading card game. According to Pidge, the chances of getting Keith in a pack of ten cards is less than twenty percent. Lance doesn’t even want to think about how many purchases Shiro has made to get this many different ones. There’s at least three different Keiths splayed across the floor.

One is surely enough.  

* * *

Full circle they’ve come, and it’s unfortunately far from being over. Several agonising close encounters of the Shiro and Keith kind later, the paladins find themselves here. There’s been notebooks, keyrings, flasks. Everything and anything under the sun has been paraded around the Garrison without shame or remorse. Also without consideration for what remains of Team Voltron.

“A t-shirt,” is what Keith has the audacity to call the thing he’s wearing.

But this is no ordinary t-shirt, not by any means. Hunk’s seen it before, he knows what the design is and whose face is on it. For some reason, he makes the mistake of searing it into his eyelids once more. He’s greeted by a black shirt and in the centre is not one face as he assumed. Being wrong about this should be satisfying, a relief. But it’s not, because in exchange for one face there are two figures posed dramatically beside each other. The blue backdrop looks suspiciously like a heart. 

It’s in that moment their worst nightmares are brought to life by none other than Shiro. Timing unparalleled, he walks into the room oblivious to the calamity. But he quickly catches onto the remnants of a stifled, incredibly awkward conversation.

“What’s everyone doing in here?”

Hunk takes his chances and looks over to Shiro. Oh god, oh my god this is really happening. He can’t believe it, but it’s right there and there’s no way of debunking it. Wow. Hunk realises he must have said parts of that out loud, as Pidge stirs from her spot in the corner.

“Shiro’s wearing it too?!” Lance whispers, voice jumping octaves in something close to hysteria.

It’s a good thing Hunk is such a kind and loving best friend, because if he really wanted to he could shatter Lance’s illusion with the brutal truth. They’re both wearing t-shirts, just not the same one. But the themes are similar, linked. Almost matched. There are more of these t-shirts out there, possibly more varieties too. An endless realm of potential is out there, more terrifying than anything Slav ever spoke of. Realisation hits as Hunk stares at the pair of them openly comparing and admiring the t-shirts. Shiro and Keith are going to collect them all, just as they have done with every single piece of merchandise that exists of each other.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ll make it out of this.

So long as everybody keeps their sacred oath promising to never tell them about the plushies.


End file.
